A Twin Reflection
by simplisticmuse
Summary: Truly, all he ever wanted was freedom - but even that was too much to ask for. A series of drabbles following Logan from his early childhood to his fall from grace.


Disclaimer: I am not affiliated with Fable or Lionhead in any way. This story is purely for my own amusement.

Summary: A series of drabbles following Logan from childhood to his fall from grace.

**-x-**

The child is fascinated, wide eyes looking up at his mother with awe, its childish and innocent yet it makes the older woman feel invincible again. The little boy's mother brandishes a sword like she was born to do so, lashing out with wide quick arks, spinning the blade so fast he can hear the air sing. It was a dance between two well acquainted partners, a binding of flesh and metal.

The serene moment is disturbed by his timid voice, "Mummy I want to learn too."

The woman stops her practice and eyes her child softly, a gleam of joy in those wise pools. Sparrow sheathes the sword and pats her leg. Her son barely past four winters, knows this gesture and comes running, clinging on to the hem of her skirts with chubby fingers.

"My little boy, this sword is heavier than you! One day child when you are older I'll teach you everything I know."

A small pinkie finger is raised before her face, "Promise?"

The woman smiles wider now as her own finger embraces her child's.

"Yes m'love."

**-x-**

Logan felt every muscle ache with exhaustion, he could hardly bare the weight of his blade anymore, the taste of sweat on his lip makes him cringe inwardly. His opponent was far too strong, always too strong, their eyes burning with the intensity of an unknown fire.

"Come now, you'll never amount to anything at this rate."

The words cut sharper than any attack and he feels the anger coil inside his stomach. He lets it cook when he unleashes another attack, much fiercer this time and with a speed that catches himself by surprise. The blade makes contact with his opponent's armoured shoulder sending the woman sprawling onto the dusty earth.

"Mother!"

Logan is frozen in his panic, watching the epitome of his existence fall on her back with a heavy bone jarring thud, her mousy brown grey hair is the only flash of colour he can see. Mentally he's tallying broken bones, blood, bruises, gaping wounds, but instead his desperation is broken by laughter. Hysterical laughter, his mother is on her back in the gravel laughing with mirth as tears spring to her eyes.

"Well done, my boy!"

A careful hand reaches down to his mother, Sparrow takes her son's hand and gracefully lifts herself up, unconcerned with the dirt that covers her royal robes. There is still panic in his dark gaze as Logan looks the woman over with quick eyes.

"No fear child, I'm okay. But what a beautiful shot love!"

Her son was improving in his swordsmanship by leaps and bounds, he possessed tremendous talent that Sparrow believed could eventually surpass her own with the necessary training. Logan's only flaw was his confidence and perfectionist nature, he did not believe himself capable of such skill and always saw the need for improvement.

There was a moment's recognition of pride in her son's face before twisting into something darker, "It was a lucky shot."

"Bah! There are no lucky shots! Only skill and observation, remember that!" Her sharp voice rang out, chiding him.

Logan nodded solemnly, suddenly stronger he grasped his mother's arm for their ritualistic walk back to the castle, a feat that followed every practice session.

The two chatted away freely with each other hand in hand, "Perhaps I should talk to Sir Walter Beck, he would be very interested in training you."

Logan felt a stab of anger, his mother was always trying to pass him off to that aging sod. He knew her duties as a Hero had always come first throughout his childhood, but as of late her tasks had been taking more and more out of his mother, his training being one of them.

It troubled him greatly, why just the other day he had overheard his sister mention to one of the cooks that she rarely seen her own mother. In some aspects Logan was glad he hadn't shown any real talent of a Hero, he couldn't imagine the unbearable expectation it came with – an expectation that surpassed his own family.

**-x-**

The courtroom is deathly quiet with all its spectators waiting on bated breath, Logan's was one of them. Ahead of the prince directly facing the throne and its Queen is Reaver, the immorally loose man is seeking the Queen's approval for some ridiculous conquest, imagine the absurdity of forced labour! The Queen's head is raised in thought, and despite this the famed gunner had the nerve to flash her a radiant smile that's provocative in its nature.

"Thrash him mummy, thrash him!" A whisper said quietly.

Logan's eye turned to the tiny figure beside him that bristles with hot anger, his little sister and Albion's princess, Hannah. He sees his mother's eyes wander through the crowd, daring to hope that maybe just maybe she heard her daughter's command.

"The factories will have to operate with the current employment numbers. There will be no forced labour, my people will always be free to work or not work as they wish."

"The Queen has spoken," Walter's voice booms over the court as a collective sigh is heaved.

Logan feels a spark of pride take flame in his chest, his mother, the ever benevolent and righteous leader of Albion. She ruled the kingdom with an inner wisdom that Logan couldn't comprehend, despite her gracious and just actions Albion was always prosperous.

"The greater wisdom of our beautiful monarch has silenced me," Reaver announced with an overzealous bow and a suggestive wink.

Logan scowls wickedly towards the man, one day when he is King he won't allow for such scum to prance into his hearings, let alone ask for a request.

**-x-**

The prince's birthday looms near, he will be twenty and he feels much older than should be. Logan paces the inner parlour with aggravated tension, a surprising feat considering the rigorous training that Walter worked him through just hours before. His mother is late for their lunch audience which is unusual, she never was tardy when it came to her own son. The servants' rumours play through his head, rumours that their Queen was getting old, that she was very sick, some even stating that she was refusing meals and walks, or wandering the halls late at night whilst mumbling to no one. He himself doesn't know whether to dash these assaults or take them as truth. Logan hadn't seen his mother for a few weeks, the result of spending the summer in their Millfields home with Hannah and Jasper.

A patter of footsteps outside the door alerts him and he turns to watch the door open, the Queen enters with a rustle of fabric and a quiet sigh. Logan feels like he has been kicked in the gut, heavy black bags hang under his mother's eyes, the brown gems themselves seem sullen and lacking their usual luster. A pale yellow tinge mars the once tanned colour of her complexion, her cheekbones seem to have sunken into her face, white tendrils of hair have escaped her bun giving the Queen a rather dishevelled edge. Even more surprising is her lack of royal attire, he hadn't seen his mother wear such plain clothes since the day his father died.

Logan is shocked from words, despite this Sparrow gives a warm smile to her son, "Ah Logan, back from Millfields are we? How is the countryside? I haven't been back there for quite some time."

A faraway look is thrown his way, one that stares past him into the rich oak walls and past the castle itself. He crumbles inside, crossing the room to embrace his mother in a drowning hug, something he hasn't done for many a year. She still smells of rosewood and sage, a smell that has accompanied her since he was a boy. Thin arms wrap around his shoulders and suddenly he is made aware of their height difference, he towers over the Queen both in height and bulk.

"Take a seat, we have much to talk about and I've missed you and your sister so."

At the mention of the youngest heir Logan raises a thin brow. She should have been invited to this lunch also, being another child of the Queen and all – and yet she was not. He still follows her command wordlessly, sitting in a leather chair too stiff for his liking. Nothing misses his keen eye, the prince watches the fragile and careful way his mother folds herself into the chair. She wraps her hands neatly in her lap and stares him down. Logan feels like a child again, pinned to his seat by the weight of his mother's gaze.

"You'll be King one day and one day soon."

Ice cold dread breaks out on his neck and traces a path down his spine, suddenly he understands why she summoned this audience.

"The kingdom will come to rely on you, m'love. I know you'll be a great King, just, fair, and strong."

The prince shakes his head, he wants to say something but can't seem to find his voice.

"I don't have much time, I've lived a long and happy life you see."

A misting of moisture dots the line of Sparrow's eyes but he knows she won't cry, a Hero doesn't cry, he's never seen his mother tear up over anything.

"You'll never be alone Logan, you have Jasper, and Walter, and of course, Hannah." She seemed to lose her focus at the mention of her young daughter. "You have it in your heart, Logan. You would give everything for Albion and that's the mark of a true leader."

The rumours were true after all, the Queen really was dying.

**-x-**

He was crowned an hour after his mother's death, the official coronation would be held tomorrow and his mother's funeral the day after. The royal crown sits on the dresser in his chambers, he can't bare its weight just yet, as if wearing it will make her memory fade from existence.

How was _he_ supposed to be King? How was _he_ suppose to hold the weight of an entire nation? He didn't want this title, Dear Avo he didn't want to be King!

There is silence about the castle that makes the halls feel empty, even with the rustle of servants and maids about their usual work. Red rimmed glassy eyes follow the new King as he passes, everyone mourned their Queen, all of Albion was at a loss, they looked up to her son for guidance and he'd be damned if he didn't provide it. He molded his features into stony resilience, yet wanting nothing more than to cling to the shoulder of the nearest confidant and weep like a child for his dead mother.

**-x-**

A year already? Had it really been that long? His first anniversary as King was only days away and Albion was already anxious to celebrate, the gifts already flooding the treasury. Hobson stated with some noticed negativity, that this was due to the King's courteous spending and acceptance of his mother's old policies. Whatever the cause Logan didn't care, Albion was thriving and his people were happy. The old Queen would be proud yes?

A bang at the door alerts the duo as Hannah stumbles into the room, of course unneeded and uninvited, yet he can't help but smile a little at his sister's antics. She is a blundering outspoken thing but endearing in her own little way, still possessing the bravery to raise her voice crossly at him during dinner, much to all the servants surprise.

"Logan! Someone sent a cake!"

Her features twist into pure joy and he is reminded of their mother. She looks so much like Sparrow, even acts like her sometimes too, Logan feels a slight twinge of jealousy.

**-x-**

His counsellors sit gathered around the table in the hot stuffy room, Bowerstone had been blessed with another unusually hot summer and it was taking its toll on everyone. The ever persistent prattle of the nobles around him seemed pointless, dreadful, and dull, but still necessary. Logan dreamed idly of the comfort and solitude of his own quarters, when this meeting was all over he was sure to enjoy the peace and quiet. Someone coughs loudly and Logan's eyes are drawn automatically to the fat finger that traces a path over a map. It mumbles something inaudible about treasure in Aurora, there is a commotion in the hallway outside, it irritates Logan slightly but he chalks it up to some sloppy servant.

His eyes wandered to the powdered face of the adviser beside him, the heat has caused his thick makeup to run down the folds of his face. The King suppresses a snort, truly never understanding high society's obsession with ridiculous fashion statements. Something made of glass or porcelain, but no less expensive breaks outside the door and the sound is followed by shouts of loud laughter. Logan slams his fists down on the oak table, the nobles gasp and jump about like startled chickens. A very irritated King of Albion crosses the room with furious strides, gripping the door's brass handle and swinging it open with a powerful swish.

Two sets of innocent eyes stare up at him before anxiously pointing fingers at the other, it is the Princess Hannah and her closet friend, Elliot. Logan already knows his sister is to blame for the shattered pieces of vase that lies beneath them. Elliot, the son of some rich baron from Industrial practically looks ready to cry in fear. Logan sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, "You two are creating a distraction."

Hannah shyly folds her tiny arms behind her back and Logan is struck with an old memory. He's seven years old again and had just been caught sneaking into an official meeting. He cowers under the stare of his Queen mother while waiting for a brutal punishment, it never comes. Instead Sparrow seats her son on her lap and allows him to watch the whole procedure with astonished eyes.

He eyes his sister suddenly with humour, "Would you like to watch?"

Elliot's jaw drops and Hannah's face is abruptly bright with glee, Logan shrugs his shoulders almost mockingly. "Who knows? One day you might just be Queen little sister."

**-x-**

The being has its gnarled fingers upon his throat while the other hand caresses his cheek almost lovingly, its crushing his windpipe and the sound of the air leaving his abused lungs is sickening.

_"Poor little lamb, come with us the children will take all your burdens."_

This creature is rancid, smelling of decay and charred flesh, Logan thrashes against its hold but the monstrosity is so strong and he is too weak.

_"Soon it will be all over and Albion will be ours, ahhh I can hear your mother, she is crying in despair." _

Logan's vision is darkening but he won't give up, he can't give up for Albion, for his dead soldiers, for his people, for his mother. It laughs at him taking pleasure in his pain.

_ "She is disgusted by you, you are not the King she wanted. Too weak she says, not a Hero at all."_

The King feels the hold of conciseness slip by him, his body falling to the sand.

**-x-**

Logan sits alone in his bedchamber, a chair pulled up to the window, the hearth had grown cold hours ago. The King watches the slumbering city of Bowerstone with steely eyes, the lives of every sleeping individual now his sole responsibility. At any moment they could be pulled from their warm beds by bloodthirsty shadows. He fingers the scar that runs the length of his lip, it pangs still either from his subconscious thought or the dark pull of that damn creature.

**-x-**

Hannah stood before him clinging to the arm of her beloved as tears pooled in her eyes, "You can't do this!"

Nonsense, he was King he could do anything and the Princess was questioning his throne; already the eyes of the terrified villagers were on her sensing a possible saviour in their midst. He would not have his people questioning him, and he would not have his own sister standing in his way. She did not understand what torment this crown had brought him. Did she know what it was like to place her people ahead of her own desires? What about to suffer for the well-being of another? What was one life compared to millions? She would have her first taste of it today.

"You have the power over life and death sister, now choose."

Logan's gaze turned to Elliot, her sister's closest confidant and as rumour had it, her lover as well. Would she truly condemn him to death for the sake of those whom she had never known?

"This boy or the lives of these many traitors, pick now or I will choose and they will all die."

The King of Albion leaned forward on his perch, he was anxious, would Hannah be a hero or would she falter as he had done so long ago. Could she possibly sell her world for a few tiny ingrates? Her tiny shoulders trembled and her head bowed to the floor, a shaking hand pointed to her love, tears flowing past her cheeks.

Oh how the old Hero Queen would cry at such a sight, her own children turning against one another in such a way.

"Let the villagers go."

Logan's heart sunk, so she really was prepared to sacrifice her own happiness for everyone else. It reminded him of Sparrow, the ultimate sacrifice she had made fifty years prior, her own family and beloved dog for the lives of the several hundred Spire victims. She truly was the Queen's daughter; he would have greedily picked his love – if he had ever known such a thing.

"I will never forgive you for this!"

There's murder in his sister's eyes, but he doesn't see Hannah, only the hateful eyes of his mother.

**-x-**

Bowerstone lay burning against the night sky, his mighty guard had fallen and most lay dead on the streets. He had expected this of the Crawler but never of his own subjects, the very people he had worked so hard to protect. They had no idea what was to come, it was all over, if he died tonight he was grateful he would never live to see his Albion fall.

The heavy oak doors sprung apart with a thunderous bang, he withdrew his sword, lest he die without dignity. Amongst the swirl of splintered wood and gunpowder, Logan thought he saw his mother push through into the room, dark curls ragged and cheeks smeared with ash, wielding a fierce blade. Clearer inspection revealed the determined face of the fallen princess.

**-x-**

The faces before him peer down at him with animosity and disgust, Logan recognized every last one of them, and with that he recognized every last crime he had committed onto them. To the Dwellers whom he had reaped their land for lumber, to the Aurorans whom he had condemned to die, the military that he had defaced with his own army, and to his home people of Bowerstone who had faced the worst of his betrayal.

The Queen's face was not twisted in rage nor was in warped with sadness either, it was simply stoney and unreadable, and this intimidated Logan to the core. He could already hear the courtyard bells toll announcing his execution, envisioning the bullets that would reign upon him from his own men.

"I says, let him have some death of his own!" The squat old man raged.

"I'm not one for loping heads off, but we seen Major Swift executed like it was a bloody circus act!"

"He promised us protection but left us to die!" The Auroran woman stated coldly.

"But aren't we better than that? Bowerstone has suffered much on Logan's behalf, but why build a new age with more bloodshed?" Page's voice was soft and soothed over the rest, she timidly touched the arm of Albion's newest monarch.

Logan had stated his piece, the good masked behind every dark and nefarious deed, an oncoming darkness that was greater than any Hero. The people scoffed at him of course, let them believe he was singing like a jailbird for his freedom, all that matter was her.

Stormy orbs inspected him from her faraway perch, he absorbed her face completely, willing her to feel the all-consuming regret that he felt by looking at all these faces.

"The choice is yours, sister."

**-x-**

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